Found
by Berries-R-Blue
Summary: If you can't run anymore, walk. If you can't walk, crawl. And if you can't crawl, find someone to carry you. One night at a bar starts a relationship that both have been unconsciously searching for. Compilation of one-shots.
1. Bar: Crimes

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. I own my oc, the plot, the bar, and such. Not the lyrics, the character Logan, or anything like mutants and such.

Premise: One shots revolving around my oc and Logan/Wolverine. It's not in chronological order, unless it's a little mini series, but covers the time when they first meet to when they die.

* * *

_What'da say to makin' some mem'ries? Out of the old, comes somethin' new._

They met at a bar outside Westchester on a cold winter evening. She'd been working there for three years, and this was his first time coming to this part of New York. It certainly wasn't a part of New York frequented by the rich, nor the innocent, but neither of the people who've been mentioned seemed out of place.

He was wearing his trademark leather jacket over a flannel shirt, a pair of grubby jeans, his boots, and he had a cigar sticking out of his mouth. Hopping off of his bike, which _did_ seem out of place on this street, he knocked ash off the end of his cigar and swaggered to the door of the bar in front of him: _Crimes. _It sounded like his kind of dive bar, and it didn't seem to be to packed, which was surprising since it was near ten o'clock.

He waltzed in, opening the door, and letting it swing back with a loud bang. The first thing that caught his eye was a woman lugging an unconscious man toward the door, and him. He moved out of the way as the woman huffed the man out the door with little problem. This surprised him, and he followed her back into the bar. Sitting on a rickety stool, he watched her have a short talk with another man at the bar. He took this time to look at the rest of the bar.

It was a shit place, but it seemed to get business. There were plenty of drunks sitting in the dim lighting, at least seven, but there wasn't enough chairs to occupy them all. He guessed the regulars – the ones that never left and were piss drunk all the time – sat on the floor, always nursing a bottle of some shit or other. There were only three tables, and those barely fit, and only four chairs. The floor was dirt coated, and the walls were slightly blood stained. It smelled worse then it looked.

The women finished talking to the man, and turned to him instead.

"What can I do ya for, sweetie?" she asked, sauntering over and raising an eyebrow at him. She was dressed in jeans - just as grubby, if not grubbier then his - ratty sneakers, and a blue, stained two-sizes-to-small t-shirt that read: Trust Me I'm a Jedi, covered by a black flannel shirt. The interesting blue shirt stretched across her chest, and lifted up above the top of her pants to show the smooth, pale skin of her stomach. He noted she was tall – he pinned her at about five ten or five eleven - and muscular.

"A beer," he answered gruffly, puffing at his cigar.

"What kind?" this time an accent floated into his sensitive ears, and he thought Britain or Ireland.

"Don't matter," the women shrugged and squatted down to a pull a beer from a mini fridge behind the counter.

"Ya want anythin' else?" she asked as she popped the top with her fingers, letting the head spurt out and cover her hands.

"Yeah, an ash-" _Thump. _The sound of a fist connecting with a face sounded throughout the bar, and drunks with bloodshot eyes looked up to witness a man wiping blood from his nose with another standing looking smug, if wobbly.

"Hey, if youse gonna fight, do it outside," the woman shouted, glaring at the men and wiping her hands on a towel. They ignored her, and the already bloodied one took a swing at the gut of the other. It connected solidly, and he doubled over in pain.

"Fuck! I said get outta here," she ordered, walking out from behind the bar and towards the men. The others had gathered around the fighting men, but parted ways to let the woman through. She stood before the two, before she struck at both of them. Her fists connected hard with their faces, and they flew to the ground. "Get out," she demanded, pointing at the door.

Both men tried to gather their bearings, before they scurried out the front door. The other occupants of the bar went back to their drinks, and the woman righted a fallen chair. The man at the bar heard something jingle as the woman walked back over, and saw dog tags that had previously escaped his notice now jingled on a ball chain in full view. There were three of them. He softly fingered his own, before taking a swig of whatever crap she'd given him. It was terrible, but it was beer.

"What were ya saying, hon?" she asked, as if nothing had happened. She wasn't even rubbing her knuckles, and he knew they should be bruised from how hard she hit those men.

"An ash tray."

"Eh, right," she muttered, turning her back to him, and grabbing a used ash tray of the shelf behind her. She set it down next to his beer, and then wiped the counter to collect any last traces of beer foam.

Ten minutes passed as the women pulled a stool up from next to the shelves, and placed it a few feet near his, on the other side of the counter. She pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pack pocket, and pulled one through the ripped top. She opened a pack of matches tapped to the side of the cigarette pack, and lit one off her eyebrow. The brown hair got singed, but grew back. The man with the beer and ash tray noticed, but was sure no one else did, he was the only sober one here besides the woman.

"Nice trick," he commented, taking another swig. The woman looked at him, wary now of this man who she knew was sober.

"Learned it in the army," she said, lighting her cigarette, and taking a drag. So her dog tags were legit. Interesting. He tried to get a good look, but only caught a few letters before she stuffed them back down her shirt.

"Including the freaky hair growth thing?" she turned to him, and smirked.

"No," she said, blowing smoke out her nose. She looked at him and took another drag. Stepping off her stool, she moved it to face him. Sitting back on it, she flicked ash off the end of her cigarette into the ash tray. "That's just God given talent, hon."

"Your fists aren't hurt either. "

"Keen observation, chops," she raised an eye brow and cocked her head, giving his face a once over.

"I try, skinny."

She smirked and puffed smoke out the side of her mouth, dropping more ash into the tray.

"Ya got a name, good lookin'?" she asked, finished her cigarette and pulling out another. She repeated her trick with her eyebrow, and he watched as her hair grew back. Just like his when it was singed.

"Logan," he answered shortly, finishing his cigar, and pulling another from his jacket pocket.

"Rory," she smirked, offering a match. He took it from her, and lit it off his chops.

"Nice trick," she smirked, taking a drag.

"Learned it in the army," he replied. She smirked wider, and grabbed another two beers from the mini fridge. She popped them open with her hands, and handed him another.

"On the house, cause your sober and good lookin'," Logan took it and watched as she took a giant swig from hers.

"Is there anything else you can do besides beat the shit outta guys twice your size and light a match off your eyebrow?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. Rory look at him in surprise, the bottle halfway to her lips. Her gray eyes grew guarded and wary.

"Maybe," she spoke softly, her eyes flickering to the door as it swung open loudly. Her eyes grew wide, and she set the beer down hard, denting the wood bar. Logan looked at Rory with a tense stare. This women could dent wood, what next?

"Rory," the new man roared as he stumbled through the door and towards the counter. Rory jumped off her stool, and walked around to face the man.

"What, asshole?" she asked, jutting out her hip and slapping both hands on her hips.

"You left," the man slurred.

"No shit, dumbass," was her short retort.

"Come back," the man pleaded, falling on his knees, "I miss ya."

"No way in hell, Jared," she tapped her foot impatiently. The man's, Jared's, eyes grew dark, and he stood, swaying in his place.

"Ya bitch," he spit out, "Ya ain't got not where to go, you freak."

Rory stood stock still as the words left his mouth. Her jaw hung loose as his words set in, and before he could react, she had sent a roundhouse kick to his chest, sending him through the door. The drunks all looked up, and stared as a hole in the door let in a cold draft.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered as she turned her back. She walked away, towards the back door, but Jared was not done sharing his opinion. Logan watched as he lurched to his feet, pulling a gun from his pants clumsily. Logan jumped from his seat as he took aim, and dove to intercept the bullet from hitting it's target. Jared might have been drunk, but he had damn good aim.

Logan fell to the floor as the bullet tore through his stomach and left through his back. Rory turned quickly, and was by his side faster then he thought possible. She immediately put pressure on his wounds, and turned to the drunk she knew was not as drunk as the others. "Hold your hands on this," she commanded. The man fell onto his knees and took over the job of clogging Logan's wounds.

Rory stood and walked to the door. Not bothering with the handle, she walked through the Jared sized hole in the door. Logan's ears picked up the sounds of someone getting dragged ruffly through the snow and sludge. The next minute there was a short scuffle, and then the sound of a gun went off. All looked towards the door, but relaxed as Rory walked back in, dusting off her blood stained shirt.

"Bastard," she swore, hurrying over to Logan. She eased the drunk's hands off Logan's stomach to assess the damage. She looked taken aback as the wound was gone. She looked at Logan's face, and helped him off the ground.

"Wait on minute?" she asked, gripping his jacket as he made his way towards the front door. Logan stopped, turning to her. Satisfied he was staying put, she jumped the counter, dragged a holey duffel from somewhere, along with a Letterman jacket, and vaulted back over. She hurried over to him, and led him out the door.

"Ya leaving?" he asked, as she pulled the orange and black jacket on.

"Yeah, to many people seen mutants and killin' tonight, people'll start talkin'; askin' questions and such," she turned towards another bike, the one next to his, and swore loudly.

"Damn son of a bitch fucked with my bike," she stared at the alley where his body lay, and spit into it. Logan watched her start walking, but before he could say anything, she turned and looked at him. "Thanks, by the way, Logan. Nobody risks their lives for me anymore, it felt good, " she confided. He nodded, knowing how she felt. She turned again, trudging through the snow.

"Rory," he called, kicking his bike off it's stand and steadying it with his hands. She turned to look at him, her cheeks already red from the cold.

"I got a place you can stay," she barked a laugh once, but stopped walking. It was damn cold out.

"Depends on the place, honey," she started walking towards him again, her feet already soaked to the bone.

"A school," she started laughing, but he continued talking, "for people like us."

This shut her up, and she cocked her head, "People...Like us?"

Logan nodded, hoping she was actually a mutant, and not just some freak of nature woman. Wait, that was a mutant, never mind. She pursed her mouth and looked at him skeptically.

"Nobody takes in mutants, hon," she stopped walking and stood next to her damaged bike.

"This guy, Charles Xavier does; he runs the school," she laughed again, but humorlessly.

"This better not be some way to get me to your house and in your bed, Logan. Cause I'll kick you ass if it is," she warned walking closer.

He smirked, and got on his bike, patting the seat behind him, "No, I've got morals, kid."

She laughed again as she threw her leg over the black leather, "You can't call me kid, I bet ya I'm a hella lot older then you, kiddy."

He scoffed as he kicked the bike into life, "I'm over a hundred, kid."

"I'm over two hundred, you fetus," Logan looked back at her in surprise, raising his eyebrows.

"Holy shit," he muttered, dragging his feet on the ground to get them facing the right direction. She barked a laugh again, gripping his waist and ducking into his back to protect her from the wind.

He liked it.

So did she.

* * *

Note: It's a few years after The Last Stand, and Logan has found out a bit more about himself. He's talked to people he's found files on (Gambit, Sabertooth, Emma Frost ect.) And they've given him info of what they know about him. He got a lot of info from Sabertooth, with some bribing.

Also, Jean, Scott, and Xavier don't die. Neither does Sabertooth, as I assume he did in the first movie.

Kudos to anyone who can guess what song the lyrics are from without having to look them up on any search engines.


	2. Body: Ink

_My body is my temple. It is my decision how to decorate it. If you don't like it, fuck off._

Logan gently traced a line down her spine, electing a shiver, and causing goosebumps to appear. He watched her breathe in and out, noticing how her muscles moved and flexed under her skin. He loved her in clothes, especially his, but nothing beat her laying on the bed nude. They hadn't even talked about sex, and she'd stripped out of her jeans, "I'm What Willis was Talkin' 'Bout" shirt, and underwear, and practically jumped him.

He chuckled softly as he sat up and sat next to her. She snuggled closer to his thigh, warming his skin with her head. He looked down at her back, glancing over the tattoos there. He didn't know tattoos worked on people with healing abilities, but didn't complain as he looked them over. He'd seen them plenty of times, but had never been in the frame of mind to ask about them.

He slowly traced the words written in black ink down her backbone, not understanding a word of it.

"Eww la-toe. Eww gunhay?" he asked skeptically. Rory laughed lowly, to comfortable in her place on the bed to much care about moving to look at his face to see his inevitable expression: Raised eyebrows and smirk curved lips.

"Eu lutei. Eu ganhei. It's Portuguese for: I have fought. I have won, smart ass," she explained, loving the feeling of his rough fingers tracing lazy designs on her body. She was perfectly content laying on their bed after a long day and mind blowing sex. Logan looked at it again, cocking his head to the side.

"Where'd ya get it?"

"In Brazil. Was the last one I got after fightin' in the Iraqi war. Reminds me of all the shit I've survived, " she felt his hand lazily trail its way to her neck, brushing her brown hair out of the way.

"And this one?" his voice sounded as he traced the Celtic heart there, along with the word, "I can't understand a word of this stuff written on you."

"It's the first tattoo I got. I was thirteen in Ireland and a mutant. It's Irish Gaelic for self," she said, feeling him trace the pattern on the heart again.

"Ya got it when you were thirteen?"

"Yeah, wanted to set myself apart from others, more so than I already was."

"Why?" he thought it was ridiculous, and also what kind of person would tattoo a thirteen year old girl in the 19th century? Must have been a cheap son of bitch.

"'Cause I've never been ashamed a my gifts, and I wanted to remind myself that I was my own person," he nodded, and traced his way to her left shoulder. He knew that outline. That grinning cat from that one movie.

"What about this thing?" he traced the black ink. He'd never seen a tattoo like that. It was half black and half of Rory's skin to create the cat. The ink only accented the teeth, eyes, ears and strips, giving it a body and tail. He supposed the cat was a bit like that in the movie

"It's the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. Got it in Louisiana when I was datin' Gambit," Logan growled softly, remembering the smooth talking Cajun he'd met a couple years ago to discuss some facts about his life.

"Ah, calm down, sweetie. I got it 'cause a the movie. It was the first movie I'd ever seen," he scoffed, and she gently nudged his thigh with her head, laughing softly. He now trailed his fingers down to her lower right back. He knew the tree residing there: a cherry blossom tree. He'd seen them all over Japan during his travels.

"What about the cherry tree?" he traced the branches and pink blossoms as she breathed. It took a minute for her to register that she'd been asked yet another question, but she didn't hesitate in responding.

"That was the first day I was ever in Japan. I was blown away by the trees and wanted something to remember that beautiful sight by," he nodded absently, remembering his first time looking at a cherry blossom tree. He'd been stunned by all the pink, not the beauty of the sight, but now that he looked back at it, he thought it was a rather breathtaking scene.

They both rested on the bed for a while after Logan finished his questions about her back, just listening to each other breath and being comforted by the thought of having some one there. Logan had his eyes closed, and was still absently tracing circles on her back; Rory was completely content, her eyes almost shut with exhaustion and peace.

"How many you got?" Logan asked slowly, continuing to run his finger across her back.

"Hmm?" Rory murmured, he mind coming out of a semi-sleep state.

"How many tattoos you got?"

"Eleven," she mumbled, craning her head to look at him. He nodded absently again, and counted the tattoos on her back. Four. There was seven more?

"Where?" he asked, looking down on her. She smirked against the pillow and looked at him.

"Find 'em," she challenged softly, purposefully breathing into his face to screw with his brain. He breathed deeply the scent of her, she actually smelled more like him right now then her, and the salad she'd eaten for dinner and the brownie for desert.

"Fine," he growled, bending his head to inspect her left side. Bingo. He stared at the orange goldfish for a second, taken aback. A goldfish. A fucking goldfish.

"What's that?" he asked, gently poking it.

"A goldfish," she explained, exasperation thick in her voice.

"I know that," he shot back. "But way the hell a goldfish?"

"I got that one in India, I think it was my sixth tattoo. Had a goldfish while stayin' there, and gave it to a little girl who thought it was beautiful," she closed her eyes remembering the light in the little girl's eyes when she given her that fish.

"Oh," he didn't really linger on the story, but moved to inspect more of her. He crawled down to inspect her legs, and found another. It was a lizard. He traced the purple and orange thing around her ankle and down onto her left foot. "And this one?"

"It's a salamander I got in Japan, my seventh ink. It was my second stint in Japan and I had a run in with a giant salamander up in the mountains," he looked at her.

"Were ya scared?" he teased tickling her foot. She dragged it away, glaring at him playfully.

"Ya wanna know the truth?"

"Duh."

"Yes, I was completely terrified of a slimy, five foot thing under my foot," Logan couldn't tell of she was being sarcastic or not, but her voice suggested it, or it was panic from the memory. Logan went with the first option. "I stepped on it, and it moved away really slow. The water up there is freezin' cold and those things move real slow 'cause of it."

He glanced at the salamander again, before kissing his way back up to her neck. He could feel her shiver as he dragged his lips over her neck and back down onto her right shoulder. He smirked against at, now almost completely laying over her. She cuddled closer as he kisses another tattoo.

"And these?" he cracked an eye to look at the masks on her right shoulder.

"Eighth tattoo. Got it in New York doin' vaudeville in the beginnin' of the 20th century," Logan looked back at the masks, inspecting the smiling one and the frowning one.

"You acted?"

"Yeah, I really liked it, still do to tell ya the truth," she admitted, glancing at his face. They lay there for a second, before he flipped her over quickly. She shrieked softly, and curled into a ball, protesting to the lack of his body warmth and the sudden cold wind. He chuckled and unfurled her, tugging her to his side.

He inspected her naked front, and found another prominent black ink. He reached out and traced the symbol above her left breast slowly.

"And this funny thing?" he let his hand trail away and rest on her side, warming the skin there.

"China..... Fourth tattoo. It means love. Got it after the Civil War to remind myself I wasn't a heartless killin' machine; that I was capable of love." Logan looked at her face, and swooped his head down to kiss the tattoo softly.

"I know ya are," he said softly, resting his head against her chest, and letting her heartbeat overtake his sensitive ears. He rubbed his nose softly against her chest as he looked back up. "What's that? Eight down?"

"Yup, three to go, hon," she answered softly, tracing the muscles in his back with her thin fingers.

He backed up and looked down at her body. There was one.

He rested his hand on her left hip, letting his thumb rub over the flower and fish.

"What about this?"

"Also from India, my fifth tattoo. I had a henna of the same design there for awhile and loved it so much I got it permanent in the same colored ink." Logan looked at the brown tattoo for a while, taking in the lotus and koi fish. He rubbed his hand over it again, and racked his eyes over her body again.

His eyes trailed for a while before they found their target: tattoo number ten. Logan crawled backwards and rested his head by her right calf. He looked at the giant koi fish coming down her leg with another funky symbol by it. He traced over the black ink, and gently poked the randomly colored scales, some were blank and others colored.

"And this?" he asked quietly, kissing her leg.

"My second tattoo. I was in Japan when I fell into a fountain of koi in the Emperor's palace. It become my code name on the team of his personal assassins, Koi," she shivered against his lips, but continued speaking. "The writin' is Japanese for strength."

Logan gently kissed the writing, and then trailed a light path of kisses up her leg, across her hip, up her torso and to her lips. He placed a soft, teasing kiss there, and laid down beside her. She cuddled into his chest and he wrapped his arms, and one leg, around her, protecting the single thing he owned in this world more important to him then life. Her head found its place in the crook of his neck, and she inhaled deeply before relaxing totally and completely.

"I didn't find the last one," he said, looking down at her. She smiled, and swept some stray hairs out of his face with her left hand. Logan spotted ink on her wrist and he grabbed it, placing his thumb over the word. Live. She giggled as he kissed it.

"Live," he murmured, setting her hand back down.

"I got it in Louisiana," she whispered, setting her hand on his waist. "It was after the experimentations in the 80s, and I had fallen into a major depression. I got it to remind myself to hold on."

"I'm glad you did."

A few moments passed as they laid there in silence. He traced lazy circles on her skin, and she ran her fingers through the hair on his torso. They finally came to rest above his heart, and she smiled against his skin.

"You are too, ya know," she whispered, kissing his neck, loving how the scruff scratched her nose.

"I'm what?" he asked, nudging her hair aside to kiss her temple. She sighed before answering.

"Capable of love," she explained, tapping her finger to the beat of his heart. He stopped moving, digesting her words. He decided to not say something witty and sarcastic, but instead kiss her temple again.

Another few minutes passed before his resistance wore out.

"So, do I got sex now that I've found them all?" he asked innocently, trailing a hand over her stomach. She laughed slowly, gently punching him in the chest.

"No, I'm tired. Sleep now," she demanded quietly, clutching his warm body closer. He chuckled and held her tighter, shielding her from anything and everything.

"Alrigh', darlin'," he whispered, kissing her temple again, and closing his eyes, feeling accomplished and....... loved.


End file.
